Page 71 of Keep Paris

“We’ve already paid.”

She says, “Then let’s walk. Let’s get lost in a sea of people who don’t give a shit about us.”

A swatch of sun catches the red that threads through her chestnut hair, and I’m transported back to that day and night. The one I thought was the start of my forever. Also, as she walks away, I’m desperate to get my hands on her again. But we should probably sort through our shit first then we can go back to hating each other, and I can bend her over another table. I adjust myself and follow behind.

Out on the street her skirt is ruffled by a light breeze. It’s warm and sunny but I pull my sunglasses out to shield myself from the world. Then I roll my sleeves up because we have work to do.

I fall into step with her and we walk about a block, saying nothing, and turn up onto Bleecker. The shops are spilling with sales and chalkboard easel signs onto the sidewalk.

“Why didn’t you ever play again? Where did you go?”

Well, let’s just dive in.

“I rehabbed and was on the mend from the rotator cuff surgery. Range of motion prognosis was good. I worked my ass off for every millimeter. All the painful seconds were worth it in my mind to get to the NFL Combine and show them what I could do. I lived for the draft. I didn’t date, I fucked, but no dating. My studies went to shit. I was obsessed with getting drafted and proving myself. I wanted the world to know I wasn’t a liability, but an asset. The only thing I knew for sure was the draft was pushed a year. I’d have to play my extra season. Since I was redshirted as a freshman.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

I instinctively pull her towards me. I forgot how removed she is from sports. I squeeze her and let her go, and we keep walking on the shady side of the street.

“I rode the bench my freshman year, trained with the team. They saved me for my sophomore year while their star quarterback finished out his senior year and I could play as a fifth-year senior.”

“Oh. That’s smart. Do that. That would work. Wait. Why didn’t you do that?”

“My dream of going number one was probably dashed, but I could go second round. Or if I could work my ass off and have a stellar season, then I might crawl back to the first round and be a starting QB instead of a backup. I could be a franchise signal-caller somewhere. That was the plan. I wanted a career and was ok not being the star.”

She touches my arm and we slow down a bit. “That was the year Robbie went first round in the NHL, right? He waited a year after college.”

“Yes. He moved home to train and be close to our ma, so our brother could go off to college in Florida.”

How was she always so close and yet invisible?

I exhale and push my sunglasses tighter on my face. I breathe in and out slowly. Only six people know this complete story. My family, Claire, and Dax. Not even Tony knows everything that happened. He knows I changed my name, but he doesn’t quite know the whole story. She takes my hand and it’s reassuring, but I look straight ahead. This missing piece of my decade is a little tough to take.

We walk hand in hand. Our undulating and natural grip falling into a comfortable rhythm. People walk around us like we’re an inseparable couple.

“It’s ok. You can tell me.”

“My dad’s eyes were different that night. Like all pupil and no color. Really terrifying. You know he smacked us around for the littlest reasons, but he always saved his savage for her. We tried not to leave her alone. That’s why Robbie went late to the draft and deferred college earlier. We wanted Law to get out of there. But when I got injured, Robbie took his shot because I could stay home.

“Did you all carry this burden?”

“Just Robbie and I.” Her arms snake around my waist for a squeeze, then she backs away again.

I continue, “I got home late from PT and he was wailing on her. I should have left on time, but I wanted to get in another round of reps. I instantly got between his fists and my mom. He was pure rage and venom. He targeted my arm and yanked hard. My shoulder separated again under the force of my father’s anger. And please don’t tell me it’s not my fault for being late that night. I’ll never get over that, so don’t try.”

She gasps, but her grip on mine remains sure and true. In my peripheral, I see her wipe a quick tear. She says nothing but squeezes my hand tighter.

“That set him off even more when I hauled off and hit him. He had a sick grin as he called me an unlovable, lazy piece of shit. He grabbed my shoulder again and undid any hope and all the good that surgery and PT had fixed.”

She pulls my arm to her but never once makes me look at her. “Oh. God. Hayden. I’m so sorry.”

I’m so grateful she called me Hayden.

We bypass the Bleecker Playground and head towards a bench in Abingdon Square. The bench is surrounded by beauty and flowers and shaded by a nice tree. There’s laughter and kids screaming. People living good lives all around. I sit her down and she never lets go of me. Thank fucking God.

I turn to her and plant my sunglasses on my head. I want her to see my face. Maybe we can actually move beyond all this pain if we face all of our shit. We’ll get to our why and how in a minute, but for now, I desperately need for my Lizzie to listen to this story and help me rid myself of all this bullshit. But I’m drowning in this shit, I need a second to reset and not be so heavy.

I smile at her, “Tell me something, anything. I’m so weighed down by this story.”